A Rhythm, A Beat

Pretty much bang on this time two years ago, my mate Wilma and I spent 96 hours doing little more than cycle, eat, feel numb, cry, attempt to sleep, cry again, and cycle some more. We made it from the northern tip of Scotland to the little toe of Cornwall, enduring the onslaught of the coldest March since records began. Whenever the hell that was. It was an experience we won't ever forget. We've tried.

But unfortunately we can't. Because it got made into a film.

Which toured the world last year as part of the Bicycle Film Festival.

Anyway it came back to Brighton this weekend, so a few of us cycled down on Saturday to watch the film on a big screen in front of a packed audience. It was sick, a real privilege, watching our melons on a massive screen keep company with some pretty major bike films. Like the twelve year old hanging out with his older brother's crew, necking Hooch. Enough time had passed for us to see the film for the first time from an onlooker's perspective, without being so emotionally wrapped up in it. Which was a trip, and made us look anew upon the scale of our achievement. It was a pretty fucked up four days.

Soon the Film Festival people are going to give us back the film rights, and we can show you exactly what went down. We're all looking forward to it.


  1. Your mum's releasing "The Coldest Bed" in time for a collaboration...should be futile!